Magnet Girl Wireless

Chapter Seven

Arline could have purchased a pack of cigarettes, a pack of beef
franks, a bag of rice, and a rotational lock. Instead when returned home
from the Chinese, Indian, and Mexican grocery, she purchased herself
Hickory Chips, some post it notes, mini memo notebooks, and a can of
iodized salt. For the amount of security you could get with a rotational
lock, you were still bound by the type of cipher manufacturing
companies were willing to give you, and the lock could simply be ripped
out of something as then as paper. But with post it notes, it doesn't
necessarily scream lock.

She wasn't breaking any laws that
day, it was simply a matter of using legal items in a way they were
never originally intended. She knew how to work around the system, find
the cheapest price. Then come home and have an fusion cuisine meal all
hot and nice. She treated her cyberspace adventures in much the same
way, finding ways around the spam block rather than repeating the system
message over and over again. And now she comes back home with her Zero
Liability USBs, along with her new program that semi-automates the
remote viewing process.

Living with her mother used to be a matter
of dependance, yet now that she had finally come to live on her own,
she found ways to hide what she was doing. And as long as she wasn't
breaking any laws or smoking, all that would really happen was her
mother would lecture her about how she spent her money. But she wanted
things she couldn't always have, as poor as a prickly chav. She found
the best deals in ethnic grocers, so she could find a way to secure her
private keys in Zero Liability. If the program tester couldn't exchange
keys securely, why should they expect others who use the program to?

Operational
security was as important as any kind of cipher, even if one used ones
more secure than the simplest of substitutions, the key still had to be
secure. She had a bag of hickory chips on the bed.

She was ready to eat.

Chorizo Chilly Stew.

Arline,
February 14th 2017 at 1:01 A.M. It feels breezy and wet. Wavy, and
bouyant. Brown movement, wavy blue. Voyages long ago. Conflict
unresolved. Nothing but wind. She found herself thinking of Mostafa
Mahmou, Egypt. At first she did not quite understand how she had arrived
at this location, and yet it feels right. Near the Nile, the large
river that provided ancient times with water to live. She wondered,
what, in some way, did these visions connect. She wondered, on some
level, whether she had accidentally downed an actual Russian aircraft.

She
wondered whether the Russians had murdered Anakarah's family, and
whether Egypt might be next. She thought of Bangkok, that didn't do
anything besides make Penang curry. All the conflicts of the world, and
none of them felt resolved by the resignation of the Glynn, who had
spoken with Russian officials off the record. Everything was watched and
spied by the secret services. From phone lines to emails, everything
about the person was watched.

Yet we stuff have a baboon for a president.

We
still have a propagandists as ... well a propagandist. And yet the news
wants us to argue about the conflict bout the president's daughter's T
Shirt brand, even when they themselves are losing viewer ships by the
day. Can the rain come again some other day, or shall the floods of
cosmic Noah rain down from the sky in droplets of blood and ash against
mankind.

After the election of the current US president, and a few of his executive orders--most notably the Muslim Ban. About how society treats minorities in the paranormal and aesthetic fringe. Arline travels the world through remote viewing in search in places to find magnetism, yet her adventures reveal more than encrypted doors...

Sarah Rebecca Weaver

I write Splattertopia, a blend of splatterpunk and Dystopia. Below is also some Paranormal Espionage, and Semi-Fiction. I dislike comedy, so please no book recommendations in that genre.
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